Incantation Fetter
by thatsabitood
Summary: Fire burns brightest in the dark. AU Loki x Sigyn. Pre-movie.
1. Chapter 1

Every year, the Allfather holds a feast at the great palace in Asgard. Every year, my mother and sisters travel the long route between worlds, and attend his feast, staying for almost a month. Every year, I stay home. But this time it's different. This time, I'm allowed to go.

Syn jerks a comb through my thick hair, not bothering to stop when she hits a tangle. Her mouth is pressed into a thin line, and she glares at the red mess. "You're going to embarrass us all." she growls, more to my knotty hair than me.

I choose not to reply. When she slips into a foul mood, it's best not to cross her, or even speak. In the mirror, I can see Nanna stop outside my door and wince at the way Syn tugs and pulls at my hair. She knows how tender headed I am. I raise my eyebrows in the mirror, and shoot her a pleading look. She groans and walks in, prepared to take on Syn to save my scalp.

"Why don't you let me finish her hair, and you can go pack your things?" she says, plucking the comb from Syn's hands. Syn nods enthusiastically in agreement.

"You're such a dear." She kisses Nanna's cheek and scurries off, happy to be out of my company. I sigh and hang my head in my hands. Without a word, Nanna starts in on my hair, gently working the tangles out with her fingers. It only takes her a few minutes to finish the job. She continues to work on in silence, deftly braiding the red mess back out of my face. She presses her cheek to the top of my head, wordlessly comforting me in a way only she can. Then she smiles, reassuring me one last time, and leaves, still not breaking the silence.

I finger the long braid that hangs over my shoulder and slip down from my seat, not wanting to keep my reflection company any longer. I possess none of the beauty or charm that my sisters and mother share, and I prefer my thoughts to my face.

My bare feet carry me down a long hall, and through an impressive archway. This is one of the few parts of the castle that isn't in disrepair. I have to say, I prefer the other parts better — mainly because I know I won't be bothered there. I push my way through a set of swinging wooden doors, and almost collide with Hnossa. She ignores the fact that she nearly knocked me down, and pushes past me, hurrying back the way I came.

I shrug and move on. It's nothing unusual for my sisters to ignore me or be unkind, so it doesn't bother me very badly. Nanna is the only one that truly cares for me, but even she and I are not too close. The other six treat me with utter disregard, and borderline hostility. It depends on their mood. It's a lot of things combined, really, that make them dislike me. My odd looks, and even odder behavior have a lot to do with it, and the fact that I don't hold much love for them gives them even less of a reason to be kind.

I've walked through the entire habitable portion of the castle, and made my way into the older ruins. Cold sea air blows through the demolished wall, catching a few loose wisps of hair from my braid and making them dance like flames in front of my face. Absentmindedly, I brush them behind my ear, and sit cross legged on the ground. I let my gaze roam up to the windows. This part was originally a tower, and if I close my eyes tight, I can almost imagine the way it must've looked in it's full glory, before the war.

I can imagine the shattered windowpanes back in place, and their faded colors vivid again, letting the sunlight stream through in rainbows on the floor. The rotting tapestries on the walls would be up in their proper places, and bright threads would tell the tales of glorious battles and ancient legends. The high walls, and even higher domed ceiling would be free of moss and vines, and the floor would be carpeted with soft rugs in deep, rich colors.

On the opposite end of the room, where a shabby chair sits, would've been the throne — of course, if a kingdom has no king, then it has no need for either throne or crown, and so neither made it past the war. I can only assume they were looted by the opposing army. What sits there now is a chair I dragged here from another part of the castle when I was younger, and still liked to play pretend.

I would sit on it regally, with my head held high, like a true Vanir princess, using a wooden spoon from the kitchen as my scepter, and a crown of paper. I indulged in these childish fantasies far longer than I should have, but Syn stumbling in on one of the court sessions held for my doll collection soon ended my playtime here. It was only after I grew older, and fully understood the dreary life I was going to be forced to lead, that I started returning to the old throne room. Not to play anymore, but to think, and to enjoy some peace and quiet — a precious thing I value most highly. Not much of it ever comes my way.

"Sigyn!" My mother's harsh voice echoes through the hall. I stand, brushing the dirt and gravel off my dress. She bursts through the doors, recoiling as a rat scurries past her feet. Had her face and posture not been emanating pure outrage, I would've laughed at her fear of the rodent. Goodness knows it's far more frightened of her than she of it. "Sigyn Iwaldisdottir!" she repeats, using my father's name attached to my own. "Where in the nine realms have you been?"

She plants her hands on her hips, and glowers at me. "Here." I reply in little more than a whisper, cringing as her voice rises several octaves.

"Doing what, pray tell?" she asks sternly. Well, actually, it's more of a command.

"Thinking." I say, my voice a little stronger now. She makes a move as if she's going to step toward me, but changes her mind, obviously remembering the rat.

"That's so helpful." she says, sarcasm lacing her shrill voice. "Now go pack your things." A smart reply runs across my mind, but I bite my tongue, thinking it wise not to enrage her further. She points to the door, as if what she wanted wasn't clear enough already. I duck my head, and rush out, heading for my chambers.

The way the castle is laid out, there are only four bedrooms. Mother has one, and the other girls are two to a room. I came along after all the bedrooms had been taken, and as soon as I was old enough to be out of the nursery, no one wanted me room with them. Perhaps it was the ever-growing supply of books or the strange creatures I bring in from time to time — or just the fact that I am so unlike them. For whatever reason, I got a room at the very top of one of the towers.

I imagine at one point it must've been used as an observatory, as there are huge windows all around the room, and skylights at the top. I've made do, dragging furniture in from other parts of the castle, and decorating it with shells and driftwood. None of the other girls ever come in here, save Nanna, and she chooses not to most of the time.

I pull a bag from the little chest that sits at the end of my cot, and stuff a few wrinkled cotton dresses in it. I suppose I'll borrow one of my sisters' for the feast, but these should work for exploring the grounds. It only takes a few minutes to finish packing everything I need. I toss the bag to one side of the room and snuggle up with an enormous textbook. I'm sure Nanna will come get me when it's time to leave.

I lose myself in the book, finding the legends of the nine realms just as fascinating the hundredth time as I did the first. I'm in the middle of a passage on the Norns, when a knock brings me back to the present. "Come in." I call, closing the book and putting it on the table. Nanna enters, looking around nervously for anything that could bite her. "No snakes this time." I promise, laughing a little at her expression. She visibly relaxes at my words, and sits beside me on the bed.

"Are you ready?" she asks, putting her arm around my shoulders. I nod silently. She understands, like she always does, and picks up my traveling cloak. "We're almost ready to leave." I smile halfheartedly, doing my best to ignore my stomach doing backflips. I take the cloak, and slip it on. Nanna leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

I was so excited when Mother first told me that I would be allowed to go this year. Ecstatic. But that euphoria has been replaced by a sense of dread. I shoulder my bag and make my way down the spiraling stairs. Mother meets me at the bottom.

"Sigyn?" she says, reaching out and patting my cheek. "It'll be fine." The gesture of kindness and the comforting words are foreign coming from her, but I smile, mouthing a silent "thank you".

We file out, one by one, with Mother in the lead. I linger behind, imprinting one last look of my home in my mind. This is the only place I've been, all my life, and going somewhere new is thrilling and terrifying all at once. I do a little half-jog to catch up to my sisters, and complete the ring that they've made. We join hands, and Mother begins to chant in a low voice.

At first, I can't make out what she's saying, until it clicks in my head. She's using the ancient language. The one that our ancestors, the original Vanir used. Before Father passed to the halls of Valhalla, he taught me a little of it. It's smooth, and flows easily off the tongue. He said it was only the Vanir that could ever master it. That the spells were guarded from the Aesir by a powerful magic.

A quick pinch from Nanna signals me that Mother's message to Heimdall is almost finished. Before I even have time to process this, we are sucked up into a blinding light. A few seconds pass — or is it minutes? Time seems to speed up and pass slowly at the same time. It makes my head fuzzy.

I don't know quite how long it's been, but my feet find a solid surface, and the rest of me follows. I gasp for air, and my fingers clutch at anything I can find. Strong arms pull me up, and I look into the bluest eyes I've ever seen.


	2. Chapter 2

He helps me up, gripping my forearms so I don't fall. I manage to stutter an incoherent "thank you" out. My stomach churns, and my light breakfast threatens to make a comeback. I glance up at the man in front of me again.

He's tall. That's the first thing I notice about him. I'm taller than all of my sisters, and I look like a dwarf compared to him. He grins broadly and claps me on the shoulder. My knees buckle under the weight and I barely escape being reunited with the floor.

"What did you think of your first ride on the Bifrost, my Lady?" the man says, his blue eyes glittering.

"It's not an experiment I'd wish to repeat." I choke out between gasps for air. He laughs, a deep, booming sound filled with joy, and offers me his arm. I take it gratefully, leaning on it heavily.

I look around for my sisters, who have somehow stayed upright and relatively dignified. They brush themselves off and curtsy gracefully to the man beside me. In response a rather pointed glare from my mother, I do the same, nearly tripping on my long gown.

He gives us a slight bow back, and walks over to speak with Mother. I am far more interested in how the Bifrost works than in the blonde man my sisters are gushing over. I reach a finger out and hesitantly trace it over the domed wall.

The gold metal pulses under my feather light touch. It seems to be alive, and responsive to human contact. Immediately, I know that this is more than just a machine to transport Asgardians from realm to realm. This is a living creature, with a life force, and a spirit. The thought frightens me, and I pull back, both fascinated and frightened at once.

I look up at the man standing on a pedestal. His skin is dark, but his eyes are golden and strange — like mine. He pulls the sword from the heart of the Bifrost, but doesn't place it back in its sheath. I crane my neck to get a better glimpse of him, but mother grips my elbow and pulls me back into the ring of giggling young women.

I roll my eyes at their blatantly flirtatious behavior. It's embarrassing just to watch them, and the way they fawn over him. I can still feel Mother's hand on the small of my back, a firm and steady pressure that urges me to do something, say something. What is proper to say to this stranger, though, I haven't the faintest clue.

He looks friendly, and kind, but too much like one of the men Mother tried to force on me as soon as I came of courting age. Theoric was his name. He was good, and kind to me, but unable to speak of anything other than his next hunt or battle. I don't know whatever became of him. He eventually stopped visiting after I turned down his marriage proposals numerous times.

A sharp cough from my mother jars me back into the present. "Sigyn, this is Prince Thor, heir to the throne of Asgard." She turns to the man in front of us. "Your highness, my youngest daughter, Sigyn."

I'm in a state of shock, which renders me unable to answer for several awkward seconds. Finally, my brain resumes its natural processes, and forms words. "My prince." I say reverently, dipping my head in a little bow. He smiles and kisses my hand, making my cheeks redden.

I sneak a glance at mother after Syn practically drags him away. She almost imperceptibly nods, giving my two words her approval. That little action from her makes my heart swell with pride. Maybe I won't be an embarrassment to the family after all.

"I brought horses for you to ride back to the palace." Thor says, gesturing to the opening of the Bifrost. Outside it, are nine horses, mostly bays. A little farther behind, though, is a larger one, white and muscular. I assume it belongs to Thor. Mother looks a bit shocked, as if she hadn't expected we'd be riding.

She lifts her skirts primly and walks over to one of the animals. It bobs its head and whinnies, begging for her attention. Attention which she refuses to give. She gathers its reins in her hands and hoists herself up on it. It shifts its stance, making her wobble ever so slightly in the saddle.

Thor leads a horse over to Nanna and helps her into the saddle, letting his hand linger on hers a moment longer than necessary. It makes sense now, why she was so excited to come to Asgard, and why her face lit up so when we first arrived. Of course he would fall for Nanna if for any of us.

They exchange a long look, and he pats the horse on the flank as he passes it. He brings out the rest of the horses one by one, helping my sisters onto them. Finally, he brings mine over.

The one that I am to ride is a grey mare. She's taller than some of the others, and a bit more spirited looking — a fact that makes me quite nervous, as I've only ridden twice in my life, and one of those ventures did not end well. I stroke her velvety nose. "What's her name?" I ask Thor, delaying the inevitable fact that I shall soon have to mount her.

"Zephyr." he replies, feeding her a sugar cube. "She belongs to one of the nobles at the palace." He holds out his hand for me to take, but I hesitate, not at all anticipating the ride. Before I even have time to realize what's happening, he lifts me up on her back. If she looked tall from the ground, she looks doubly so from up on her back.

I pat her neck, and click to her. Obviously she takes that as a signal to head for the palace, because she begins meandering off in that direction. As soon as I over come my fear of riding, I relax and am able to look around.

Vanaheim seems shabby compared with this place. Everything is golden and beautiful, and glitters in the afternoon light. The bridge beneath me pulses with a strange combination of light and energy. Up above me are a huge pair of gates, taller than the entire castle at home. And then I see it.

The palace. It takes my breath away, how it stands over the city, proud and tall, just like the Aesir. Its walls are pure gold, and reflect the dying light in such a way that it almost seems to shine of its own accord.

I hear the sound of hooves behind me, and tear my eyes away from the glory of Asgard. Thor and my family have caught up to the wayward horse. Thor gallops ahead to the gates and they slowly grind open, giving me an astonishing view of the city.

It doesn't take us too long to travel the length of the bridge. We stop in the courtyard of the palace. Thor begins helping my sisters down from their horses, but I decide to try getting down on my own. It doesn't end well. Zephyr moves just as I am about to drop down, and I end up in an ungainly heap on the cobblestone. Quickly, I stand up and brush myself off, hoping no one saw my little mishap. A few servants come and take our horses away.

Up close, the palace is even more magnificent. Ahead of us is a flight of stairs that leads to a set of enormous double doors. Thor walks up them and speaks with two stern looking guards. After a few seconds he beckons us to follow him. The guards open the door, and allow us inside.

I don't think I've ever felt so small. Arched ceilings soar over my head, taller than three of the towers at home. The floor is gold, like everything else I see. We pass through a set of columns, polished until my reflection stares back at me, wide eyed and frail.

Thor claps his hands, and several servants appear, taking our bags. "I extend the apologies of the royal family." he says. "The Allfather cannot see you today." Mother scowls at his words, but doesn't say anything, thankfully. "The servants will take you to your suites."

A man leads us to a set of nine rooms, and leaves without saying a word. Syn escapes into hers first, probably pouting over some imagined slight, and the rest follow into their own.

Mine turns out to be a small one, by that palace standards I've seen so far, but still grand and huge compared to Vanaheim. See, Vanir architecture is almost the exact opposite of the Aesir's. Ours is symmetrical and sturdy and unpretentious, made of solid stone, where the Aesir's is golden and asymmetrical, and more grandiose than anything I could imagine.

My room has lower ceilings, and isn't garish and covered in precious metals. It almost looks like a mix of the two cultures.

A young girl bustles out of one of the smaller adjoining rooms, bearing a load of beautiful fabrics over her arm. She drops a curtsy to me before laying them on the bed and opening the curtains at the east end of the room.

"Who are you?" I ask her.

She smiles. "I'm here to get you ready for the feast." I nod, not sure what to say. I start to reply that I can get myself ready, but considering how little I know of Asgard, her help might be useful.

That doesn't mean I enjoy being fussed over. Perhaps it's because I'm not used to it. Or it could be that I just don't like it. Either way, the servant bustling around my quarters is beginning to be unwelcome.

One by one, she holds up dresses and gowns up to my skin. Each one that she likes, I end up refusing, and the few that are actually tolerable, she whisks away. Obviously my sense of style isn't very 'Asgardian'.

Finally we agree on a matte gold one. It matches my eyes almost perfectly, and compliments my hair. The back is completely open, and the neckline plunges to the middle of my chest. It drapes loosely, allowing me plenty of room to move around. The train is long, and I fear I might trip over it, but it's better than the other garish dresses she's offered.

She deftly sweeps my hair up on top of my head into a high bun, and pulls a few strands down to frame my face. I start to turn around to see myself in the mirror, but she catches my arm and pulls me away to sit on a stool.

She runs a brush over my face, making my white skin even paler than usual, and covering up the few freckles scattered over my nose. She keeps working with other brushes, painting my face for a few moments, until she stands back to admire her handiwork.

She gestures to the mirror, letting me know that I can see my reflection now. When I face it, the girl staring back at me is not myself. She looks like some kind of exotic beauty, not the gangly body I've been forced to grow up in.

The girl has worked wonders. My cheekbones aren't usually half as pronounced as they are now, and gold lines my eyes, giving them a sultry look. She's stained my lips a bright red, and even colored my fingernails to match my dress. Somehow, she's made me look like a woman instead of a child.

I nod enthusiastically in approval. She grins widely, her eyes lighting up with pleasure, and bows. It's only after she exits that I realize I forgot to ask her name.

Ever since I arrived, it's been a flurry of excitement with people rushing around, so I'm thankful for the few moments I have to myself. I don't have long, though, before Syn barges into my room.

"C'mon!" she says breathlessly, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. "We have to get down to the feast on time!" I twist my arm out of her grasp and straighten my dress.

"I'm coming." I say tiredly, following her out the door.

* * *

_I know it isn't very long, but I'm uploading another one in a few minutes. Just the first chapter has gotten an overwhelming amount of support, and for that, I am so grateful. Thank you, Eliza and MJ for putting up with me. I love you, darlings!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Posted 12-29-13**

* * *

Once I step into the grand hall, it hits home how truly extravagant the Aesir are. I'm suddenly glad for the girl's help, but even with her magic hands, I feel small and insignificant next to these royals. Plain, almost. The dresses that I once considered garish, are quite simple compared to the lavish robes that the nobles wear.

My sisters and mother disperse quickly, each in a different direction. Freya to the warriors table. I imagine her reputation precedes her. Before I can find a nice corner in which to spend the evening, I see a flash of blonde hair and a blood red cape out of the corner of my eye. I almost say his name, but change my mind. I don't know or even hope to understand the protocols for addressing royals. For all I know, I could've made a horrendous mistake already, and he's too kind to point it out.

Instead, it's him that addresses me. "Lady Sigyn!" he says, his voice booming across the short space between us. He strides toward me, the people parting like water before him. I feel my stomach clench up, and my palms start sweating, my immediate response at the thought of having to interact with anyone that's not my family.

He extends his hand out courteously. I stare at it blankly for a few seconds, unsure what to do with it. Then I remember and place mine hand in his, blushing at my ignorance. He is kind enough not to point out all the social blunders I must be making, and expertly guides me through the crowds.

"I assume you have not yet met anyone." he says, resting his hand on my shoulder. A burly man with a goblet of wine plants himself in our path.

"Ooh." he says, his squinting eyes roaming over my body. "What an exotic golden flower." he reaches out to put his hand on me, but Thor comes to my rescue and steps in between us.

"She is spoken for." he says firmly, walking around the man. I can feel his eyes follow us. "Forgive me. War veterans are honorary members of the court, but aren't always the most savory characters." I laugh a little at his words, but make sure to stay close to his side.

"I noticed." I say, trying to control the trembling in my hands and voice. People aren't really my area of expertise. Thor seems nice enough, a little loud maybe, but safe and strong. Syn seems to like him especially. Poor man.

He introduces me to a giant of a man he calls Volstagg, and a much smaller one named Hogun. The two are as different as night and day. Volstagg is boisterous, with flaming red hair like mine, and Hogun is dark haired and grim.

The blonde one called Fandral introduces himself with a flourish and kisses my hand. It's dreadfully obvious what a flirt he is. Apparently everyone else agrees, as they let out a groan. A dark haired woman, older than me, but still quite young by Aesir standards, walks up and stands on Thor's other side. Fandral introduces her before Thor can get the chance.

"Lady Sif!" he says. "A pleasure, as always." Sif glares at him.

"Save it for the maidens, Fandral." Thor laughs heartily at her words, a loud booming sound that would give me a headache were I exposed to it much.  
Fandral links his arm through mine and half escorts, half drags me to a table filled with goblets of wine. He starts chattering in my ear, but it's only after he repeats the sentence three times that I actually hear him.

"Fancy some wine, my Lady?" he asks, offering me a goblet like his own. I hesitantly accept it and raise it to my lips. Never in my seven centuries of living have I tasted anything fouler. The liquid burns going down, and leaves a bitter aftertaste. I set it back down on the table, scrunching my face up in disgust.

Fandral laughs at my odd behavior. "Your first time drinking, then?" he asks. I nod. "Don't worry." he says. "You'll get used to it."

"I doubt I will." I reply primly. He laughs again, and finishes his wine in one long draught.

"Now — let's dance." He guides me into the crowd, swaying and twirling to the lively music. We dance on until we're both exhausted. And then, the cycle repeats. Another glass of wine, and several more dances that I don't know the steps to.

I have to say, I admire Fandral for his persistence. But the man doesn't know how to shut up. I have sent him several subtle clues that I'd like to be left alone, but he keeps asking for dance after dance, and I don't know how to politely refuse him.

"And with a mighty thrust of my sword, I killed the beast!" His voice fades into the background. I'm certain he's told me this story at least once before. With every tale he tells, the more drunken he becomes. I have honestly never been more bored in my life.

He drapes one arm over my bare shoulders, his metal gauntlets biting into my skin. At this point, he needs support to walk over to the refreshments so he can intoxicate himself further. I think there might be something wrong with that logic, but I can't put my finger on it.

"Darling." he drawls, the wine slurring his words. "Never have the stars graced me with a more lovely companion." I've resorted to nodding to whatever he says, simply to get out of having to answer him. I'm sure he must be a great warrior, and a wonderful man, but drunken, he's a bit of an idiot.

"You know, I'll just go get you some more wine." I say, desperately wanting to escape his company. He laughs at my words, finding some humor in them I didn't. Before he regains his composure, I dash out of sight.

The halls are so confusing here. Everything looks the same, all huge and shiny and golden, with nothing to mark my way. So comes as no surprise when I find myself wandering down a corridor with absolutely no sense of where I am or where I'm going. I actually was intending to find my way outside, to get a breath of fresh air. With so many bodies packed into one room, even if it's as huge as that one, it gets stuffy.

A set of double doors swing open in front of me, leading to small room filled with books and maps. A long desk, and a few comfortable looking chairs sit at one end, near the window. Old, dusty volumes and scrolls are stacked haphazardly against walls and on shelves. I pick out one at eye level, running my fingers over its smooth leather cover.  
Magick, it says in curving silver letters.

The subject of magic has always intrigued me. I know it was an art unique to the Vanir, but that was millennia ago, before either of the wars. Now our people are scattered over the realms, and the few who remain in their original homeland live in poverty. Magic is lost to us. But it still runs in our veins. I have the Gift.

Or that's what Mother calls it, at least. I'd go with "terrible inconvenience" or possibly "curse". Either way, it's something that happens once every few generations, where the stars pick a Vanir-born child, and bless them with foresight.

Only I missed out on the foresight. I did, however, manage to get the blackouts, and terrible headaches, and nightmares that accompany the Gift. Oh, and did I mention the fact that people tend to shun me? And the glowy eye thing. Yeah . . . curse.

Still, I'm curious about the ways of my ancestors, so I open the book and flip a few pages in. Obviously, it teaches basic spells and incantations. Nothing too difficult, unless you're me. The one at the top of the page is a spell for light.

I read over it several times in my head before attempting to say it aloud. The first time, I stumble over a the strange words, but the second, I manage it perfectly, and am rewarded with a tiny spark in the palm of my hand. I try it again, and this time, I'm able to sustain a coin sized ball of golden light for a few seconds.

It hurts to practice magic. My head starts throbbing, and colored spots close in on my vision. And the actual magic that is pulled from inside me twists and turns. It makes me sick. As soon as I close my hand, the light goes out, and my body returns to normal. Pleased with my success, I hunt for another easy trick to try.

The next one that looks relatively simple is the one for lifting an object with your mind. I mutter the foreign words under my breath, and focus on one of the books. Ever so slowly, it inches out from its spot on the shelf and crashes to the floor. I hold my breath, hoping to Valhalla no one heard that. I tuck the spell book under my arm, and brush my gown off.

"Why are you in my study?" A man's voice makes my heart momentarily stop beating. I can only hope whoever it is isn't too angry. I turn around, balling my hands into fists so they stop trembling.

The dark haired man in front of me doesn't look too menacing. Well, not as menacing as he could — he doesn't look to be much older than me. I curse under my breath in elvish. He walks over to me, making each step deliberate and slow, until we're only an arm's length apart.

"Give me the book." he says, holding his hand out expectantly. An even worse word comes to mind, but I bite my tongue and hand it to him, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. He sits in one of the chairs and opens it. Behind me, the doors slam closed, and I hear the bolt slide into place. My stomach does a flip.

"Have a seat." he says, his face an emotionless mask. I shake my head stubbornly.

"I prefer to stand." I reply, doing my best to copy his neutral expression. He shoots me a strange look.

"You have never practiced magic before, am I right?" I still can't tell if he's angry or not. It almost seems like he's studying me.

"No." I reply, not sure what else to say.

"Show me what you learned." he commands. He has an air about him that shows he's used to being obeyed. I wrestle internally for a second, then decide to show him. I cup my hands and repeat the simple spell I memorized. A ball of light, twice as large as the last one flickers to life. I can feel it draining my energy and beginning to hurt, though, so I quickly extinguish it.

The man nods in what I assume is approval. "Who are you?" he asks, his voice sounding genuinely interested, instead of blank like a moment before.

"Sigyn. I mean Lady Sigyn. Of Vanaheim." I stutter out. I'm not used to giving my full title, so tacking a "lady" on before my name sounds strange.

He stares at me for the longest time without blinking. It's quite disconcerting. "Who are you?" I ask him, heading towards the doors. He doesn't reply. I mutter a choice comment about the "stuck up Aesir".

"I would advise you to hold your tongue, girl." he says without turning around.

"Or what?" I retort.

"I'll hold it for you."

And just like that, my heart stops again. Instinct tells me that this man is dangerous. My ceaseless curiosity tells me to stay anyway. Not that I have a choice. He turns back to me, his green eyes smiling even when his mouth refuses to. The book is still tucked under his arm.

"Sigyn, are you interested in learning the forbidden arts?" The way he emphasizes "forbidden" almost makes me think he knows magic, and doesn't care if the world knows or not. I don't know what to say. I do want to, more than anything, but he frightens me. I find myself nodding, even though every ounce of reason I own is screaming for me to stop.

"Come here." That voice again, with the commanding tone. I follow him, rather meekly, over to the window and stand off to one side. He pulls open the wine red curtains. "What do you see?" he asks.

"The bridge." I say, my voice little more than a whisper. "And the Bifrost, and the city." His face still holds no expression, no clues as to what he might be thinking.

"And beyond that?" he prompts, stepping away a bit so I can move to the center, where I have a better view.

"The water." I say. I step up closer to the glass, my breath forming frost on it.

"But what is beyond even that?" he asks again. He still isn't satisfied with my answer.

"The sky, and the stars . . . and Yggdrasil." I say confidently. "And other worlds. Realms full of wonder and beauty beyond comparison. And magic." He looks pleased this time.

"What is past there, though?" he asks. I shrug.

"Worlds we know nothing of?" I suggest. He keeps staring blankly out the window. "Can I go now? You kind of locked the doors." I step back. He still frightens me, and his words make no sense.

"Yes." He hands me the Spellbook. I look at him, my mouth hanging open slightly. He pushes it further into my hands. "I want it back in the morning." he says. He snaps his fingers, and I hear the bolt slide open.

Still in awe, I make it out the door before coming back. I find him with his back to me, facing the windows. "One last thing." I say. "What is your name?" Without turning, he answers.

"Loki."


	4. Chapter 4

I didn't get much rest last night. I stayed up until early in the morning reading over the book he sent me, copying spells down and practicing them. I fell asleep just before dawn with the book tucked tight against my chest.

But now I'm here, standing right in front of those ornate wooden doors, with my hand raised to knock. I can't make myself do it. He frightens me, but in a fascinating way. I want to know him, but I'm far too scared to get close enough. And then I knock.

"Looking for someone?" His voice sends chills up my spine. I speak without turning around.

"Yes. I brought the book back." He walks up behind me and unlocks the doors with a skeleton key.

"Come on in." he says, leaving the doors stand open. I reluctantly enter into his study again and put the book on the table. I stand awkwardly in the center of the room, watching him busy himself with opening the curtains and tidying the bookshelves. He starts rolling an old map up and ties it off with a bit of string.

"May I?" I ask quietly, running my hands over its leathery surface. He nods, almost imperceptibly, and turns his back, but I can feel his eyes on me as I fumble with the knot. Once I untie it, the map rolls out by itself.

It's a beautiful thing, several centuries old, at least. The ink on it is somewhat faded, but still readable. It's a illustration of Yggdrasil, depicting an enormous tree, with nine thick branches.

At the top of the tree is Asgard, with Valhalla a little above and to the left. Below that is Vanaheim, my home, and on the far right is Alfheim. On the next level is Nidavellir, to the left, and Midgard in the dead center. A little farther down is Jotunheim, followed by Svartalfheim. At the bottom of the tree is Hel, and Muspelheim. Below that, the roots spread across the page. What catches my eye, though, is the blank spot, just underneath Muspelheim, and before the roots.

"What's this?" I ask him, rubbing my finger over the bare spot of paper. He makes a noncommittal grunt, and walks over to where I'm standing.

"That's Nornheim." he replies, looking over my shoulder. I'm confused.

"Nornheim isn't one of the nine realms . . . " I say, letting my sentence trail off into oblivion as I try to wrap my brain around what he's telling me.

"There aren't just nine realms." came the abrupt reply.

"But that's absurd!" He raises one eyebrow at my outburst.

"Isn't everything in life?" he challenges.

Not answering, I roll the map up and tie the string back around it.

"Come." he says. "Show me what you learned last night." I take a step back.

"Why?" I ask, balling my hands into fists. He smirks, in an infuriating way that suggest he's twelve steps ahead of the rest of the world.

"I did loan you the book."

I show him the spell for lighting a fire, and the one for moving things with my mind, the one for light, the invisibility one, and the healing one. He nods slowly in approval after I perform each one, not giving out any praise, but not correcting me either.

"Sigyn, you have a natural ability to perform magic. How do you fancy the idea of being trained in it?" My eyes widen in shock.

"Really?" I gasp. He nods, obviously amused at my surprise. "By who?"

"I will." he responds. "No one else, save my mother, even knows magic, much less would be willing to take on a student . . . like you."

I nod excitedly and ignore his comment, even though him teaching me has significantly tarnished the idea. "When can we start?" He walks over to his desk and picks up a green book laying there.

"Tomorrow morning. I want you to read over the first chapter of this before you come, though." He puts the book in my hands. I look at the spine. A History of Magic.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask him. For a moment he doesn't respond.

"Because I want to." he answers vaguely. He's a bit infuriating, in that sense. I've only known him for a few hours, and he's already beginning to grate on my nerves. I can't imagine how anyone could stand to be around him for long.

I suppose I'll find out, though. I'd go to Hel and back for proper training. Learning under him might be pretty close to that. He's just not very friendly. Or polite. Or even remotely nice.

When I get back to my suites, I flip through the first few pages of the book, without even attempting to try any spells. These are much more specific, and therefore far more difficult. There's one for beauty that I'm almost tempted to try. It would be so wonderful to be pretty, like my sisters.

And then I remember. My family has an audience with the Allfather this morning, and I'm expected to come along. I'm not sure why, as all I'll be doing is stumbling through formalities and tripping over my hem and using the wrong verb tenses. But I'm still supposed to be there, and I don't have much time to get ready.

I rush around the room, looking for something suitable to wear. But what does one wear to meet a king? I'm sure something practical would be good, because I'd be less likely to fall on my face. Then again all my practical clothes are plain, and threadbare. Something fancy would make a good impression, that is, unless it were to cause me to fall down. That wouldn't be good at all.

Several gowns have appeared in my closet overnight. I'll say one thing about the royals. Even if they are snobbish, and affected, they know how to pamper. I decide on a silky gown that falls somewhere in between practical and elaborate. It's a pale pink color, with long, loose sleeves and a modest neckline — something for which I'm quite grateful. I don't look stunning, like I did last night, but I'm adequate. I hope.

I hunt around for a a pair of shoes, and pick up my old necklace on a whim. It's a simple little thing, really. Just a saltwater pearl on a chain. My grandfather, Njord, gave it to me before his death, though, so it's special. Just like him.

Oh, we had he grandest times together, Grandfather and I. He was such a gentle soul, and he loved me. Nanna was always his favorite, but I came close. He would spend long hours with me on the beach, telling me stories of brave knights, fighting a monster for a maiden. More times than I can remember, he would play out battles with me, never minding that I was always the valiant hero, and he was the ogre or dragon.

Sometimes we would recruit my sisters to make a bigger army, but more often than not, they politely declined, saying such things were "too childish". Mother always said he had a child's heart. I miss him.

He died when I was very young, just learning to read and write. I can still remember his spidery script, writing out complex letters to nobles, about political matters. His study was always dark and pleasantly cool, even in the hot summer, so I took refuge from the sweltering heat in there quite often. I used to work on my reading, even though I couldn't recognize half the words. He was endlessly patient, though, never getting annoyed, no matter how many times I bothered him to help me figure out what this sentence meant, or that word was.

My favorite memory of him was a winter day, when I was just getting old enough to really appreciate him as a friend. It was chilly out, and there had been a terrible storm the night before. We were out walking on the sand, and I was barefoot, against Mother's wishes, as usual. I had cut my foot on a sharp piece of shell, and he was holding me while I cried into his shoulder. It didn't really hurt too badly, but it was bleeding, and that was excuse enough for me.

He picked up the shell, and put it in my hand. "Sigyn," he said to me. "Remember this. No matter what a person seems like . . . " He ran his wrinkled fingers over the jagged edge. "they always have beauty inside." He flipped the shell over, to reveal a glistening mother of pearl center. He was a wise man, my grandfather.

I fasten the pearl around my neck. Mother would tell me that it wasn't fashionable, but I want to wear it anyway. I loved him, and wearing it is like honoring him in my own tiny way. I start to brush my hair, but remember that I'm still barefoot. A pair of white slippers lays by the door, so I squeeze my feet in them. They pinch my toes a little, but I suppose it's better than showing up in the throne room without any shoes at all. Mother would be furious.

On my way out, I tackle my hair, working it into a bun at the base of my neck. No sooner than I get one half up, the other falls down. I manage to catch it, and in doing so, let go of the other part. I growl and discard the comb in a potted plant, ignoring the stares of the guards that stand at intervals down the hall.

The palace is like a labyrinth, with twists and turns and everything looks exactly the same. I'd ask for directions, but that's like a personal insult to my intelligence, so I keep my mouth shut and become hopelessly lost. And more lost.

When I finally reach the enormous doors leading into the throne room, my family has already gone in without me. It takes a bit of loud arguing, but the two young guards reluctantly swing open the gold doors, and allow me entrance. Odin's speech is already already well underway.

As quietly as possible, I walk across the bare floor. No one has noticed me yet, so that's a relief. I'd run, to get up to where my sisters are standing, but that would draw attention to myself. So I keep my head up, and my back straight, and I walk like a lady. Slow, tiny steps, hands down at my sides, chin up. Like royalty.

Mother has already presented all my sisters to the Allfather, except me. I stand awkwardly beside her, waiting for her to finish droning on about how well Syn plays the harp. She steps back a little. "And my youngest daughter, Sigyn."

I freeze for a second. What does one do in the presence of the most supreme being in the nine realms? Probably not gape at his son with one's mouth hanging open.

A horned helm and golden armor doesn't hide the strange man I met last night, and saw this morning. He catches sight of me, and subtly raises a finger to his lips, telling me not to say a word about our previous encounter.

I drop my eyes to the floor, and nod respectfully. "An honor, Allfather." I can't read his expression. The ability to smother all feelings must be a royal trait. Mother clears her throat and shoos us back.

While she jabbers on, I crane my neck to get a good glance at the Queen. My mother is the goddess of beauty, but Lady Frigga radiates a kindness and warmth like nothing I've ever seen. Her features are beautiful, nothing flashy, like so many noble ladies try to strive for, but natural. There's just something about her that makes Mother seem childish and petty.

Mother is striking enough, with her icy blue eyes, and honey colored hair. She is the most beautiful woman in the nine realms. That beauty only made it as far as her face, unfortunately. The rest of her isn't quite so lovely. I've noticed recently, though, that her hair is harboring some gray streaks, and her eyes have faint crows feet. It's all covered up with cosmetics, of course, but if you look closely, you can tell she's aging.

Just now, I notice that she's wearing Brisingamen. Her necklace has all sorts of ugly rumors about it. How many of them are true, I have no idea. It's a bit silly, in my opinion, to name an inanimate object. I don't understand why someone would do that. It makes no sense. But without a doubt, it is one of the prettiest bits of jewelry ever made.

Most people say the dwarves made it. There are . . . different ideas as to what she paid for it. It has got to be dwarven workmanship, though. No other craftsman could make something like that. It has twists and turns that catch the light, and make it shine. The whole thing gives off a natural feeling, like it grew that way, instead of being hammered out on a forge. Gems are inlaid in it, so cleverly that they seem to grow with it. Like it's alive.

Nanna nudges me, and I snap back to the present. I do that quite often, lose my grip on reality, and spiral into my imagination. She takes my elbow and leads me out. I can feel her hand trembling. That's strange, she's almost always perfectly calm and collected. As we file out, and the guards close the doors, I crane my neck to look behind me, and see Odin standing and talking to his sons.

Thor stands tall and proud, with his red cape out behind him, and Loki is off to one side, included in the conversation, but not quite like his brother. The Allfather shouts something, and Thor shouts back. Loki turns away from them, and stares right at me. And smiles.

Well, I say he did. It was just one corner of his mouth, and it only lifted a tiny bit, but still, it greatly improved his looks. He's altogether too serious. The door slams closed, and we return to our rooms. I have work to do.

* * *

_Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to get this one up. Pinterest is a huge time sucker. I'm hoping to get Chapter 5 up quicker, and it should be a bit more exciting. The action will start soon, I promise. So . . . yeah. Read away. :)_


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